


My Shepard: part deux

by candycandy (telltail_heart)



Series: The Worst Series [2]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Both POV, Charles is Erik's stalker, Conspiracy Theories, Crack, Creative Freedom, Frozen Yogurt, Gen, Kinky, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Roy Orbison - Freeform, Satire, Shopping, These two are horrible, baths, charles is erik sexual, dangerous driving, erik is fine with it, erik may be asexual, for now, making light of everything, okay not possibly, possibly offensive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:22:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8555398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telltail_heart/pseuds/candycandy
Summary: Just more of their terrible selves. Charles draws a bath for Erik, and Erik takes Charles shopping so he doesn't make him look bad-- appearance wise, and frozen yogurt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'd read the first part so this makes sense. 
> 
> So this was written in the same fashion as the first part. i just asked my friend what to put for everything, and kinda made them even more terrible, but this is a few months into Erik inviting Charles into his life, and Charles is taking full advantage of it... and his closets. And just so it's clear, Charles has a spare room, but doesn't really use it... 
> 
>  
> 
> if you're offended by most things don't read. any angry comments I'll delete. you didn't have to read after all.  
> They are the worst, and I laugh pretty hard. Complete satire. nothing is safe from these two. 
> 
> p.s. there's gonna be a sequel that may include a clint eastwood golf game, corporate office meetings, harry potter, and a jail cell all including charles. oh and paparazzi pictures... 
> 
> and if you really wanna see something happen suggest it, it might end up in the story.

 

 

“Thank you good Sir for my car, and I hope I won’t be seeing you anytime soon— but you never know about these things when you sit around on the street like I do all the time. I mean it weirds people out I guess, enough that they ring up the police and get my car taken away.”

The lot attendant walked away shaking his head, and Charles watched his retreating back. _Such an odd fellow_. “Fine, just ignore me.” He mumbled as he got into his station wagon. Once the door was closed he let out a sigh of relief, and stroked the seat next to him lovingly. “Hello girl, how are you? Did anyone touch you? No, you’re fine sweetheart.” Charles cooed, as he turned the key in the ignition to start her up, and the engine clattered to life into the soothing rhythm that followed him through the city… on his little adventures after Erik.  

Charles pulled out of the impound lot and onto the road. He turned on the radio because that was the natural thing to do. It was on the classic rock station and the DJ’s were chattering on about something or another— The Illuminati. That made sense, it was a hot topic— conspiracies and such, tricky business that is. Erik wasn’t one to believe that there was a Big Brother controlling everything, but it did make sense to Charles. He was sure that his family was in on it, they were quite a shady lot...   

The next song began after the chatter break, and it was a classic that he’s always enjoyed— Roy Orbison’s: _You Got It_. Charles was grinning as Orbison crooned on. He had quote the monotone voice, but it soared like a mockingbird. “You got it, anything at all, babyyyyyy—” He sang, and then his phone rang and his whole being froze up with anticipation. It was Erik— oh god it was Erik! He answered the call pressing it to his ear as an anticipatory grin blazed across his lips.

“Erik…” He sighed, as his heart fluttering in his chest and he shuddered out an elated breath, “I got my car back, thank you Erik. You’re so great—”

Erik’s voice was buoyed down by annoyance when he spoke, but Charles wouldn’t expect anything less: “Okay, okay, I get it, you’re thankful, drop it, just— when are you getting here?”

“I’m, I’m coming Erik, I’ll be there soon. Do you need me to pick up anything? I— is that why you called?” Charles stumbled the words out, feeling pleasure coursing through him, almost arousing in nature as he thought of seeing Erik, of serving him, Erik Lehnsherr...

“No Charles, what could _you_ get me? Hurry up and get your creepy ass over here. I have ideas to run through with you— how about protein bars— wait don’t say anything, just hurry home.” Erik ordered, and Charles gasped.

“Home?” He whispered, and for a moment it sounded like Erik was telling Charles to come _home_ — _home_ like Erik’s house was his home… their home.

 “Yeah to my house. Where _I_ live.” Erik told him condescendingly, and he should have known.

“Oh, oh yeah of course, silly me.” Charles laughed it off, but then he jerked his head hard punching his forehead with his fist, because he should have known. Of course Erik would never give him a room permanently, or a closet… He would take a closet. He preferred it actually. It was more intimate, and close to Erik’s bed.

“That’s a way to call you, silly.” Erik drawled sardonically, and Charles laughed because if there was one thing he liked it was Erik’s sharp tongue. Charles was about to assure Erik he was on his way home when he cut in— “Wait what’s that your listening to, Charles? What’s that song?”

He grinned against the phone, “Anything You Got, by Rory Orbison. It’s a good one Erik. Do you like it? I like it.”

Erik chuckled and it was beautiful— a robust, and manly expression that made Charles hard in his worn slacks. Worn down from sitting for hours on end, in this very station wagon and watching over Erik.

 “Yes I like it  okay, and I can tell that you do as well. Is this your style Charles?” Erik asked him, and he paused for a moment listening to the message that the song was sending.

“It’s my style Erik. Giving you whatever you want. _Anything you want, you got it… Anything you need, you got anything at all… babyyyy._ ” Charles sang to Erik, meaning the words with all his heart.

“You don’t need to sing Charles, **really** …” Erik sighed, putting the emphasis on the last word, and Charles thought that funny, because he was completely serious— he wasn’t so much singing as making a vow that he would never break.

“But I already do Erik, I do everything for you, so you see this could be our song… _if you want?"_  He whispered the last words, and he was so wound up that he didn’t see the old lady pushing a walker across the road until he was almost hitting her. He slammed on the breaks and swerved away from her as the cars were honking around him.

“Fuck off!” He screamed out the window, and then slammed on the gas so he was peeling away to Erik’s— away from the mad drivers in L.A. where nothing but ignorance was afoot...

When he brought the phone to his ear, Erik was yelling into the receiver like Charles was being murdered, “Charles?! Are you there! Charles, Charles— Charles!?”

“I’m here, you can stop yelling!” Charles yelled back, but he was grinning giddily. _He sounds so concerned, like he really cares about me…_ Charles thought as his spirits were lifted so high that he was choking on his breath.

“What the hell Charles! What is going on! Are you hurt?!” Erik demanded and Charles giggled into the phone.

“I’m fine, I’m fine Erik. No need to go yelling, you don’t want to damage your beautiful voice.” He soothed, yet he was grinning so manically he could barely see the road through his squinted eyes.  

“Yeah, you say you’re fine and I hear screaming— that doesn’t sound fine to me… Just hurry up and come home Charles.” Erik ordered of him, and then snapped, “And don’t get yourself killed. I need you to schedule an appointment with NBC. I want to get on Ellen again— she’s the right kind of simple minded dribble people watch and are actually receptive to. My fans will eat it up.”

“Oh they will Erik, they will— God you’re so amazing! And don’t worry, I won’t die until you do Erik. We have an unspoken pact.” Charles gasped, and cut off a Tesla. They deserved it, driving such a hippie ride… disgusting.

“You know what, that’s a deal I can’t turn down. I like your commitment Charles. You see? You play on team Erik, you win on team Erik.”

“I wouldn’t play on any other team— I’d die before I played on another team— I’d kill the captain and make them give you the job.” Charles let out in a gasp, as he was overcome by his devotion to Erik.

Every time they talked, or he saw Erik it was like a pill being opened and sprinkled over his brain— it was something he couldn't move past: Erik brought him satisfaction that wouldn’t end, and with every new hit he needed Erik more, and more… and it wouldn’t let him rest as long as Erik was on this planet. He would stalk him to the ends of the earth and back.

“Yeah whatever, just hurry home, or else.” Erik snapped and ended the call, and Charles groaned rubbing his phone over his face and then dropped it into his lap.

“I’m coming.” He whispered, as he unzipped his fly, and slid his hand into his pants, and held himself as he thought about his Shepard…

***

They had a nice dinner of pasta and chicken after they went over some new sauce ideas. Charles whipped up from a Jamie Oliver cookbook, which he stole from a book store in town— Paraphernalia. Charles spent his time when it came fleetingly, but it didn’t mean that he particularly liked it. It just reminded him of England, which he missed although he would never mention that detail to Erik. The owned was a crusty old hag, whom he met whence he was in the bushes one day and watching Erik buying groceries, and she was also a Shepard fan, so by default Charles hated her.

It was before they became— well, he’d say friends, but that didn’t even begin to cover what Charles was to Erik. He was… Erik’s everything. He was there for him twenty four seven. He watched him sleep every night, and woke him up with pancakes, and ran his baths for him, even when Erik didn’t want a bath, but he always looked so stressed, and Charles had to make sure he was getting those relaxing moments, which didn’t come often when you were as _insanely_ famous as Erik.

“Charles what are you doing over there.” It was Erik barking from beside him, and he jumped and looked at Erik’s beautiful face. Lines were etched around his eyes, revealing the added beauty that age has brought, and his irises were a storm of blue and green, as passionate as the most volatile storm, and one of his large hand’s was shaking next to Charles’ face.

“Looking at you, Master.” He responded dreamily, and Erik visibly shuddered.

“Don’t call me that Charles! Just— would you load this right, this is a fucking travesty. You have two pots overlapping. The water won’t even touch them. Why do you always do this?” Erik demanded, and Charles hung his head in shame.

“I’m sorry, I know I can’t get anything right. I’ll just go back out to the bushes.” He pledged solemnly, but was fighting a smirk the whole while, knowing Erik wasn’t actually mad, he was just high spirited, and liked things done right.

“That’s not what I meant.” Erik sighed and Charles looked over grinning.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll do a better job right now Master— I drew you a bath, why don’t you go and relax. You’re always so stressed.”

“Charles! First, first—” Erik sputtered in a surge of rage— counting one on his finger as he shifted his weight onto a hip, which made him look like an incredibly sexy, yet angry model and Charles shuddered, “Stop calling me Master, because I don’t need the paparazzi getting wind of that. Anyone could look up that I don’t pay you— or you won’t let me pay you. Nothing good comes of having slaves Charles, I would know. And second— stop drawing baths for me! I don’t take baths. I know you have issues, but stop this, or you don’t get to stand in my closets anymore and be a freak.”

“No!” Charles gasped, grabbing his chest with his rubber glove covered hand, and the other he placed against his forehead as his head swam.

His closet! Where he watches over Erik’s sleep… even if Erik usually kicks him out to the guest bedroom he’s been forced to stay in like a dog— but there was no way he was going to stand out in the open like a chump when there were perfectly good closets to slink in!

“You couldn’t! We have a deal!” He sputtered jabbing a finger at Erik, “I get to reside in your closets sometimes, and I pick up the slack— everywhere!” Charles wailed, being dramatic again to just get his way. He’d learned through his observation of Erik that he was a real softy. You just had to prevail to his apathy.

Erik looked up like he was asking for help from the heavens, when they both knew the only thing residing above their heads was a bathtub full of water waiting for Erik to steep in.

“Charles, don’t argue with me! I’m not going to take a bath, if I don’t want to take a bath! You take a bath! How do like that? You’re coming with me—”Erik growled, and grabbed Charles by his arm, and dragged him through the house, and up the curving staircase to the top floor— and Charles, he stumbled behind Erik with a manic grin cracking his face.

This scenario was at the top of his list of fantasies… Erik dragging him to the bath, and then stripping and getting in, and then Charles… well slipping discreetly into the closet, where he could watch Erik wash himself…

“You gonna take that bath now.” Charles puffed in excitement, and Erik ignored him as he pulled him into the bathroom, and pushed him into the soapy tub.

Charles didn’t fight him of course, and fell like a solider onto a bayonet as he crashed into the soapy water, and one of his rubber gloves went flying, he just hoped it didn’t hit Erik. He was too much of a heavenly creature to receive a soiled glove to the face.

“How you like it Charles? How do you like your bath?” Erik growled as he pushed him under the water, and it flooded over the sides of the white porcelain claw foot tub.

“I like it.” He gargled through the suds, as his soaked clothes were drifting away from his body in the water, yet it wasn’t entirely unpleasant sensation because Charles had ensured that the tub was exactly 33 degrees centigrade. It was the ideal temperature for bathing babies, and Erik to him was just as precious as one...

Erik pulled him to the surface, clearly not intending to drown Charles considering he was invaluable as Erik had described once, and that comment had gone to Charles’ head, both of them...

“Of course you like it, because you’re a freak. Now will you stop drawing me fucking baths? You’re not my chamber maid— stick to things that I need, like scheduling a fucking appointment with Clint Eastwood.” Erik growled while jerking on Charles’ shirt, and then let him go. “While you were wasting your time running baths, I was looking into future prospects Charles, and guess who’s casting for their new movie?” He posed resentfully as Charles splashed his hands in the water. It actually was quite good fun floating in the bathtub.

“Oh… so you got my note about the new Eastwood flick.” Charles drawled as he walked his finger over the rippling surface, and Erik’s face was consumed with confusion as his hand stalled in the air.

“Wait— what note, what are you taking about?” He demanded as he walked closer to the bathtub, and Charles’ smirked as a plan filled his mind.

“The email that was opened on your tablet, about the open casting call for Eastwood’s new emotional tear jerker, about baseball blah, blah, blah, the star player has cancer— wah. Sounds like a blockbuster to me.” Charles intoned lightly as he smirked, and Erik crossed his arms as he stopped at the edge of the tub, and looked away grumbling.

“It does sounds a blockbuster.” He agreed in a begrudging tone, but Charles saw his mouth curling at the edges as he gave in.

“Mmm it does, it does… And I’ll call Eastwood’s people tomorrow… so now that we have that sorted out…” Charles trailed off and moved forward, sitting up in the bathtub and slid his hands towards the edge where Erik was standing, “Why don’t you take a bath with me?” Charles suggested as he grinned mischievously and looped his finger in one of the empty belt loops on Erik’s waist, and the tan fabric stained as the water touched it like ink staining paper.

“Charles, cut it out. I’m not going to get into the tub.” Erik reproached sounding harassed, but he didn’t step away. “You should take better care of yourself anyway. If you’re going to meet Clint Eastwood then you need to look the part. You need to clean yourself up, and I’m not joking Charles.” Erik bitched for the hundred time, and Charles ignored him and tugged on the loop again as Erik’s knuckles turned white where they were curled around the edge of the tub. He gave Charles a look of warning. “Don’t you dare…”

“What are you going to do if I pull you in Master, are you going to punish me?” Charles teased as he jerked the loop again, “You gonna strip me down and spank me?” Charles husked as he ran his tongue over his lips, and Erik let out a dry chuckle.

“It never ceases to amaze me how perverted you are Charles. Finger off my pants now, and get out of there. The bathroom’s a mess, and your clothes are soaked, and— you know what, just take off your clothes and leave them there Charles. I have something you can wear, and after this we’re going shopping – yea shopping Charles and no more arguments.” Erik barked sternly, and he reached down and covered Charles’ hand where it rested close to his groin, but he didn’t pull his hand away as expected.

His eyes were void of emotion as he held Charles’— and an excited fear shook through him and he imagined Erik backhanding him with his rubber gloves— cause he was filth naturally. It was more than Charles could hope for…

“You remember your place Charles. It’s not in my bed. I didn’t hire you for this.”

“Yet.” Charles gasped without hesitating, and Erik’s eyes narrowed.

He stepped away and Charles let his hand fall knowing if he didn’t he was gonna end up face planting off the side of the tub, and he watched Erik’s defined arse through his tight pants as he stalked over to the towel rack... and thought of doing things with his tongue that he'd never done with anyone.

“Get out and dry off. I’ll leave clothes outside the door. You have to look like a fucking competent human being if you’re gonna be seen in public with me. I’ll meet you downstairs... and don’t forget what I said, any of it.” Erik said ominously as he placed the towel on the small stand next to the tub, and then spared him no glance as he stalked out the open door, and Charles let out a manic chuckle as he fell back into the water and made like a fountain, spraying a stream of water through his smirking lips.

***

It was nice to get out of the house, which usually led to him wanting to go back to his house, but he was trying to make a point.

It was a choice to stay home and have no life, not a last resort.

_If Charles wants to act to a like a freak and fuck around in the bathtub, then no Shepard re-runs tonight… That’ll teach the little freak._

Although Erik was getting tired of watching himself… He was doing it for Charles, letting him do whatever he wants, but Erik usually didn’t notice what he was up to until he’d pissed Erik off. He had a business to run, and thankfully he wasn’t shooting the new season of Shepard yet. His plan was to have Charles trained before that happened, but he was proving to be hard to control.

Erik didn’t know why kept him on… but he had no choice now, he lived his life like Napoleons Army, burning bridges after every crossing. All he had left was Charles, yet surprisingly Erik was fine with those odds, even if Charles was a bonafide freak. _Drawing me baths…_ He thought and repressed the amusement that tore through him like his last contract, threatening to curl his lips.

He found Charles funny, but sometimes he had to put his foot down because a joke could wear thin, like the bath gimmick, although it was less of a gimmick and more of Charles being perverted, but what else was new?

A roar of low quality phone speaker disrupted his internal bitching.

 _Pretty woman, walking down the street_  
Pretty woman, the kind I like to meet  
Pretty woman –

Sliced through his thoughts and he looked at Charles who had his phone out as it played from some free streaming site. His head was cocked to the side, and he was grinning at Erik, while obviously waiting for his reaction and not watching the road as the car weaved into the next lane.

“Charles! We’re gonna crash!” He yelled, and Charles looked ahead leisurely, and swerved back into his lane as Pretty Women played.

“I wouldn’t kill you Erik so don’t get so angry— geez. I love you the right amount to not kill you, you understand? And that’s a special thing for a stalker.” He explained with a wink as he flicked his wrist, and added, “That doesn’t mean I don’t consider suicide packs, but I know you’re not into that so…” He drawled and flashed Erik with a grin.  

That was just twisted enough for Erik to laugh, but he was still mad about the possible vehicular homicide.

“Yeah you’re right I’m not into death packs Charles and don't think I didn't notice this is the second time today you've mentioned them, so you’re not driving anymore. I don’t know what I was thinking…” He grumbled, and Charles looked over grinning, but didn’t answer. He just started to sing along to Pretty Women while glancing from the road to Erik, and bobbing his head along, and it almost made Erik forget how terrible Charles’ driving was, and how many accidents he almost got them in on the way to Rodero Drive…

“So what is this? Are you on a Roy Orbison kick, cause I’m not that much of a fan Charles. I just didn’t think you were into the classics.” Erik groused as the song ended, and now that Erik thought about it, he really didn’t know what Charles was into apart from stalking him, and he didn't want to start to ask when his life was on the line.

“Who’s Roy Orbison?” Charles asked as he almost ran over a superman impersonator, and Erik growled as the IPhone shot at him when Charles swerved, and it ricocheted off the dashboard and fell to his feet.

 _Good!_ Erik thought triumphantly, when he’d wanted Charles to get a new phone anyway. Just like his wardrobe it belonged in the garbage: there were cracks over the screen, and chips out of the sides… and a background image of him under the cobwebbed glass, shirtless and in his bedroom, and clearly taken from the window where he was yelling at Charles…

He rubbed his face as he picked it up the phone, and decided he’d just buy Charles another one, and throw this one in the garbage when Charles wasn’t around, or looking. He was around more then he wasn't these days.

For some reason Erik continued his conversation, after he yelled at Charles for his most recent dangerous maneuver, but he really couldn’t handle the man’s ignorance sometimes. “ _Who’s Roy Orbison?_ He’s the artist of the two songs you were serenading me with today. Get your head out of your ass— and watch the fucking road. Just park Charles before you kill us.”

“I’m parking, don’t get you panties in a twist.” Charles retorted in a heavy breath, and looked over licking his lips, as he pulled into a spot by a Starbucks, practically slamming on the breaks as Erik lurched forward, and braced his hand on the console and across Charles’ chest to secure him, and Erik didn't know why he cared.

“Parked, Master.” He chirped, and Erik growled as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“You’re the fucking worst Charles. That’s the last time, the last time— I swear to god.” He punctuated his words with a jab of his finger. He was so close to strangling Charles, but the freak would probably just like that so all his anger would be for not…

At that Charles held his hands up defensively and sputtered and Erik knew he was right, “Hey leave god out of this, it’s not his fault I’m a horrible driver, it’s a choice, like you know… believing god exists, or parking tickets. I’m pro-choice.” He rationalized as he covered Erik’s hand that was on his chest and held it, and Erik gasped in a breath because… his reasoning was so twisted, that Erik couldn’t help but be completely overcome with pleasure.

He wheezed out a manic laugh, feeling punchy from the drive, and found it in himself to let most of his anger go as the parking ticket comment set in, but then that reminded him…. “Wait, we can’t stay here. We’re gonna get towed, _again_ , and I’m tired of paying impound fee’s— and what did I tell you last time Charles? No more illegal parking.” He griped and undid his seat belt, wanting to get some fresh air. The interior was smoking on this hot California day.

Charles got out as well, and Erik was reminded of his wardrobe as he rounded the car: He wore Erik’s jeans, a simple pair of dark 502’s that were reasonably tight on Charles’ hips, yet pooling around his worn loafer, due to Erik’s added height. And his dark blue dress shirt was hanging off Charles in the same manner, starched and untucked— and a complete contrast from the rest of Charles’ looks. He looked so young, boyish even and so un-like Charles at the moment it was almost off putting. He always wore sweater vests, or a similar sweaters with a dress shirt under— oxfords his stylist referred to them, and dress slacks, and always his thick dark framed glasses like he couldn’t shake the UK style of dressing like the throw back of a student, or professor, or a stuffy clerk.

“You look terrible like that.” He said when Charles stopped in front of him, adjusting his glasses, and pulling at the collar of his shirt so it wasn't falling off his shoulders. He looked down like he forgot what he was wearing, or the fact that he taken a dip in his clothes earlier, and shrugged with that same loony grin he always had curling his lips.

“They’re your clothes what do you expect— but wait, I know who dresses like this.” Charles said in an inspired tone as he snapped his fingers, and Erik rolled his eyes as he looked at the Starbucks longingly. “I’m no fashionista,” He continued boldly as he motioned to the pants and the shirt, “but you dress like Steve Jobs… and he wasn’t what I would really call fuck material, Erik. Maybe you should shop around as well. Put on something that shows more skin and model it for me…” Charles trailed off suggestively as he wagged his brows, yet Erik wasn’t going to merit that with a response. He knew Charles was just trying to bait him, and he had the car to move—and as he suspected they were parked in a handicap spot.

“Go get my usual drink, and I’ll move the car, and don’t be a freak. If you ruin this shopping trip, and get yourself arrested or something equality embarrassing I’m not going to bail you out.” He threatened, as he jabbed his fingers into Charles’ chest, and saw the younger man grin in amusement.

“You know Steve Jobs was a real asshole I’ve heard. I probably would have liked him…” Charles trailed off, and eyed Erik poignantly as he smirked.

Despite himself Erik had to fight a grin. Charles had a cutting wit, and a calculating business mind when he wasn’t fucking around and being a pest. But he didn’t have to add anything else as Charles told him blandly, as he finger combed his unruly hair, (and Erik added gel to the list of to do's cause he wasn’t about to start sharing his fucking hair products. Charles could keep them in his shoe box in the closet… he thought, getting a twisted joy from Charles’ psychosis that only a megalomaniac could savoir… This human worshiped him after all, and it was literally what’s been missing from his life all these years. Single minded attention… adoration… obsession. He just never imagined such a dedicated admirer would be this fucking infuriating all the time.)

“Fine, I’ll get your drink, and I won’t get arrested, or anything ludicrous. I only get tickets for loitering anyway, but that hasn’t happened since you let me in the house— well just the one time or four, five—but beside the point, I don’t need you to bale me out. I have my own money remember?” Charles informed him, and he shook his head, not wanting to get into that.

It made this all the more damming if anyone found out about their arrangement, because from Charles’ explanation, he was the heir to some vast fortune and gave up his life (he was vague on what said life had consisted of, and Erik really didn’t care to find out) to move to America to stalk him… Which was a story and a half if he’d ever heard one, and not completely convincing. Erik just knew this was one tale that had to stay out of the papers at all costs… It would be manipulated and turned into a smear piece, and people just didn’t understand how hard it was to find good help anymore. 

“Yes I remember… fine. I’ll be fast so don’t go wondering off. I don’t want to lose you either.” Erik was anxious, knowing Charles was prone to slipping into the shadow, even when it was 90 degrees out. He was usually watching Erik, but he didn’t want that scene in public… Charles crouched in some bushes on Rodero Drive while they were shopping in the paparazzi infested public of L.A.

“I’ll be here. Don’t worry Master.” He assured and Erik nodded, and turned to the car, but then stopped and grabbed Charles’ arm roughly to get his attention, but he hadn't moved a inch.

“Don’t call me that either. You remember what I said. Slavery isn’t good Charles— If anyone hears you saying that I’m gonna be labelled as a monster, and if that happens then this is all over, and I’ll make you regret it as much as anything else you might do to ruin me.” Erik threatened as he stared Charles down, and watched as he swallowed deeply, and that perverted quality filled his blue eyes.

“You mean that?” He panted in excitement, and Erik let his arm go like he was on fire, knowing this what he didn’t want witnessed as well— none of it.

 _I don’t need to have BDSM branded next to my name either. Those fucking Christians frown on everything. So what if I take Charles home and lock him in his closet, and threaten him with a wooden spoon. I haven’t hit him yet…_ But it was Charles who kept pushing for Erik to take control as his _Master_ … his dominant, and it was the logical step when he was clearly in charge in their dynamic, but he just… he didn’t spare thoughts for sexual acts, or arousing role play, when he had a business to run. He never really had, although what was role play but power play, and Erik lived and breathed for that.

“You know I do, but you won’t like it, it won't be like your twisted fantasies— now get out of my sight.” He hissed, and stormed away to the driver side of his Mercedes, as he tried to ignore the nuisance that was Charles, at least until he had the car re-parked.

 

They were inside of Tommy Hilfiger and Erik knew this was going to be a disaster, but it wasn’t Charles’ fault.

“I told you British, what is this?” He demanded as he looked at the brightly coloured styles: a bright pink dress shirt, turquoise skinny slacks, and a sunshine yellow braided belt, and that was just what was on top— _repulsive_. “He’s not wearing this.” Erik said coldly as he rejected all the selections the clerk had brought over.

“But they’re in style Mr. Lehnsherr.” She blithered, and he blinked at her, and then pointed at Charles.

“Well he’s not in style, he’s my assistant, and I said British.” Erik snapped, and the clerk hurried away knowing not to argue, and he stalked over to Charles who was posing the mannequins _forcefully…_ so they were touching themselves.

“Stop that.” He growled as he stood behind Charles, and he turned as he wet his mouth excitedly, but covered it instead of making a lewd comment. “You see what she picked out? Fucking pink.” He grumbled, and Charles shrugged as he let the mannequins arm go, and it fell off, hitting the floor with a crack.

“I don’t get it... I mean, I usually stick to blues, and greys, and browns cause I stain my clothes, what with the crouching, and crawling through dirt, and grime…oil, garbage, so on...”

“I know, all too well.” Erik mumbled, and led Charles over to the dressing room and away from the mannequins.  

Out of the blue Charles piped up: “Mother wants to go to the market this weekend.” He told Erik this distractedly, as he turned to the mirror and started buttoning up Erik’s shirt until it was snug at his collar, and then began tucking it in, or jamming the blue fabric into the tight waist of his pants. “She wants some photos as well. She said she wants to update her photo collages with pictures of all of us... one big happy.” Charles’ tone was deliberately casual, and Erik watched him as he had the shirt tucked so tight into the pants it flush with his skin, yet over lapping in tight folds, and then he started to jerk the pants up, so his balls were parting at the crotch.

Erik sighed, "Fine, I'll make plans." And looked away from Charles, needing to compose himself, yet growled out the side of his mouth, making sure no one was watching, and thankfully the store was relatively empty. “Why are you doing that? Can’t you stand still and not make a scene?”

Charles turned to face Erik and swept his hand over his body while chuckling to himself, “It’s all the craze Erik. The 80’s is back in right? And ball toes, moose knuckles, hmm, tres chic or what?” He spoke in a suave tone, and Erik shook his head, but had to admit it was idiotically funny as he suppressed a grin because the clerk was hurrying over with help.

“We’ll talk about Mother later, for now, just find something respectable, that doesn’t give you… that.” He warned, and Charles looked around inconspicuously, even though he just parted his nuts with denim a second ago.

“Alright Mr. Lehnsherr, I’m so sorry about that, Glendavene is new. Here are the styles you asked for, for…” The store manager trailed off as she regarded Charles, followed by her shooting her employee an aggravated scowl.

“For Charles, my assistant. Now can we please move this along, I have business to attend to.” He informed them even though he didn’t, but it was best to always look busy when you’re important, and you don’t like to dally in public, and you’re with someone like Charles.

“Yes— yes sorry Mr. Lehnsherr, let me just set up the room, and we can help dress… your assistant.”

Erik didn’t like sound of that, and shook his head as he motioned to the room, “Just leave the clothes, we can handle this.” He directed as Charles gave him a sultry grin— that he hoped no one actually read for what it really was… Charles clearly couldn’t help himself.

“Ah yes Mr. Lehnsherr. Just call if you need anything, sizes, or a different style, anything.” The manager bumbled out, and he agreed and only was able to relax once they were alone.

“Get in there and change, and be sure to show me Charles.” He directed and Charles saluted, and walked into the dressing room as the pants sliced his tight cheeks apart, and Erik looked away shaking his head.

 

The day drew to a close thankfully, with little to no incident after that. Charles was distracted playing dress up, and Erik was filled with relief that he didn’t have to worry anymore about damning photos of Charles and himself, with the headline: _‘Erik Lehnsherr hires mentally ill street bum.’_

Charles looked rather neat, and he was feeling so magnanimous that he took Charles for frozen yogurt as a treat, like he would hypothetically of course a well behaved child, or in his case a servant.

He was sitting at a table and signing the odd autograph, and posing for a picture while he waited for Charles. Erik had passed on the frozen yogurt, opting to sit after the day he had, and he couldn’t afford the extra sugar when he had a six pack to maintain.

When Charles finally walked out with an overflowing cup of brown yogurt, he noted it was spilling already as the melting treat ran down Charles’ hand, and onto his brand new Burberry sweater. They went there after Tommy Hilfiger. It only made sense.

“Charles.” He snapped, and the old ladies who were admiring him look shocked at his change of heart, “You’re getting your sweater dirty.” He rebuked Charles, and picked up a stack of napkins and pressed them against his wrist, mopping up the offensive mess.

“Am I? Well I never said I was clean, I more lean towards the filthy… That’s why I never waste my money on fancy clothes, right ladies?” He drawled wagging his brows, as the two grandmas smiled sweetly at him, like he was an adorably rumpled grandson.

“What’s that young man?” The one asked, who sported a grey buzz cut and a psychedelically coloured cat vest.

Before he could answer, Erik spoke and thrust more napkins at Charles as he filled his mouth with the candy filled frozen yogurt like it was his last meal, and Erik watched as it escaped and ran down the sides of his mouth. “He said he doesn’t mean to make a mess, but it’s his favorite.” He finished lamely, but he didn’t care.

These granny’s were none the wiser as one smiled and cooed. “Oh, I agree, I love frozen yogurt.”

“Me too, do you Mr. Erik Lehnsherr?” The other old lady asked him dotingly, using his full name as fans usually do, and he went to deny his love for yogurt, but a moment of eureka hit him, and it was once again because of Charles.

“I do, I do, I like frozen yogurt… everyone loves it, who doesn’t?” This Inspiration struck so passionately that he had to get them home to his office so they could hash out this new venture— this _gold mine_. “Charles come on, we’re going— Goodbye ladies, you’re important, never forget that.” He spoke to the air for all he paid them attention, working on auto pilot as his mind was whirling, and he stalked away as Charles followed thankfully, albeit with a mouthful of yogurt, and a sticky face.

“Charles—this is just like the organic!” He exclaimed when they were out of ear shot, and he gave Erik a thoughtful look, but it was ruined by his messy face. Sighing, he held Charles’ arm and wiped his face that was covered in chocolate yogurt, and candy cane specks. “I’m going to make frozen yogurt. It’s another yuppie treat, just like the fucking organic. It’s supposedly healthy, and people flock to buy it and I can make it organic and charge even more— hell I make it with goat milk, or breast milk or whatever the fuck people think it healthy now— you’re a genius Charles!” Erik proclaimed, giving Charles the credit, but he was just too excited as more finical success drifted in his vision. Enough to make up for Charles’ future dry cleaning bills he thought as he laughed heartily in the street.  

“Really, me!” Charles sputtered as the yogurt sprayed from his mouth, and he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk in the same instant, and his cup of yogurt went flying. “NO!” He screamed like it was his last meal, and Erik burst into laughing while pointing at the melting yogurt on the hot pavement as it ran through the dust, and grime and became inedible, mingling with the filth of the city— or the rich and famous. They were on Rodero Rrive after all.

“You deserved that— now come on, I got some planning to do— or we have some planning. This is gonna be big, really big.” Erik rattled off as he pulled on Charles’ arm, but Charles resisted.

“I want more.” He whined, but Erik shook his head. “We’ll get some delivered, and I’ll make you your own damn flavour if you want— now let’s go before we draw more attention.” He hissed, and Charles lit up and fell into step with Erik, while leaning against his side, cozying up to him, and Erik was too damn happy to push him away.

“You’re the best Master I could ever hope for.” Charles said dutifully into Erik’s arm, and he grinned while shaking his head and felt that feeling that kept creeping up lately when Charles was around, that Erik didn’t experience much when he wasn’t thinking about himself, and his successes… _Happy?_

He supposed anything was possible…

 

tbc


End file.
